


Rats in Glass Houses

by hillbillied



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Jewish, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Badass Liebgott, Blatantly Inglorious Bastards inspired, Blood and Violence, Character Death Fix, Cheerful as ever despite the crushing reality of his situation gallows humor Luz, Conflict of Interests, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fist Fights, Gallows Humor, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Misuse of grenades by Malarkey, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pining and ignorant Webster, Rating May Change, Religious Conflict, Serious Injuries, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Webster had proudly bought into the idea that there could be no better company than <i>Easy Company</i>, safe in the knowledge that he was with the best and the bravest. That the 506th could truly stand alone and need nobody to come to their aid.</p><p>At least, he <i>had<i> - until he met the <i>1st Mamzer Regiment<i>, with whom they were now forced to share the battlefield. David thought Easy had enough on their plate without this new unit stealing their thunder, but somehow he was still getting distracted by the intruders' mysterious leader. One <i>Joseph Liebgott</i>, commander of this Jewish-American division Hell-bent on proving themselves the best and bravest unit Europe had ever seen.</i></i></i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>
      <i>
        <i>But as easy as it was not to sympathize with the enemy, not sympathizing with new allies could mean the destruction of both companies entirely.</i>
      </i>
    </i>
  </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, in occupied France...
> 
>  
> 
> I said I wanted to write an Inglorious Bastards-style AU, with Liebgott as it's gun-wielding protag, so here it is. Although it obviously **deviates greatly from the movie** , like _aggressively_ , because I know that it's not everybody's cup of tea (I'm honestly not sure if it was mine either)
> 
>  
> 
> Long story short - Expect emotional constipation from all parties, moral dilemmas like you wouldn't believe, and lots and lots of actual Jewish references that I wish had been included in the original movie as opposed to simply mentioning it at the beginning and then never showing any actual practice of it from there on out.

When Easy first met them, it wasn't with the highest expectations.

It was with wide-eyed surprise rather than wide-eyed admiration.

Because the 506th  had still yet to be surpassed in physical skill. Was still the elite, the best, the bravest. The men who dove from soaring aircraft and landed with the thunder of titans against the earth, rifles ready, teeth bared.

It wasn't so much arrogance as ignorance. Because none of them had ever met a fighting force quite like their own.

And they had never considered the possibility of better.

 

 

 

Webster felt sweat roll across his brow. Holland was warm, warmer than France by a mile. It didn't help the atmosphere, the tension weighing down with the buzzing wings of the flies that encircled them. But even the unrelenting sun and vengeful insects were nothing compared to the picture that greeted him on the horizon.

From here it looked like a cluster of ruins. It was.

It was also a town, however. Or, it used to be. Turned into nothing more than a strategic crossroads by artillery fire and explosives. Which may have been poetic were they not supposed to be occupying it.

Unfortunately, that hadn't happened.

The town jutted out of a hill, for one, the incline resulting only in scattered bodies and more stretchers than David could bare to see. The enemy had the high ground, and approaching was a suicide mission. With no artillery or armoured support, Easy and the rest of the 506th with them remained stuck amongst the thin tree-covered perimeter, pinned down until the inevitable counterattack would be launched and force them to retreat. A real shit-show.

It was a bitter end to a castle-storming that had lost them too many friends and gained them absolutely nothing.

Retreat was not an option, but without help it was soon to become inevitable.

 

 

Winters couldn't agree more as he surveyed the blackened houses through his binoculars. The tiniest glimpses of movement against the crumbling brick remained unchanged. He was running out of options.

He was running out of time.

"Anything?" A voice asked, a familiar body pressing its weight against his side.

"No." The redhead returned curtly, lowering his equipment, "Where have you been?" He skipped the pleasantries and moved straight along to business.

It was almost snappy, but it was met with only a good-natured chuckle.

"Calling in a little miracle."

That had Winter's full attention, turning his eyes on the black bearded man at his shoulder with a look of confusion. Nix only grinned crookedly back, clapping his partner on the shoulder as he nodded back through the trees behind them.

Rumbling troop-trucks came lumbering into view. Nix straightened up and stepped back to unveil his masterpiece. Dick followed, scrutinising the filthy vehicles and the unfamiliar insignia beneath the traditional white star.

"We're supposed to be alone." He said, as if the words would shatter the fantastical illusion he was seeing, "There's not another division within a hundred miles."

"I wouldn't exactly call this just _'another division'_." Nix huffed, smiling around the cigarette that found its way between his teeth, "So a hundred miles through occupied territory is nothing."

 

 

Guarnere's fingers smacking the back of his helmet brought Webster's attention away from the distant outline of the ruins. He turned his head with a disgruntled noise, which did nothing to change the Philly's unhappy expression.

" _Christ_ , Guarnere, what'd I do this time?" David laughed breathlessly, straightening his M1, "You look like I just defecated in your foxhole."

Guarnere gave a sarcastic laugh, completely devoid of humour, which he cut short with a sharp nod to the approaching trucks behind him. Webster followed his gaze, pushing himself out of his crouch to peer through the surrounding trees.

His eyes passed Bill, who had pulled over Toye to join him in surveying the scene. Looking further, over the broken bushes and slowly gathering members of Easy, a selection of vehicles had come to a halt amongst the greenery. Dirty olive canvas was pushed aside as several bodies clambered out, brown boots hitting the earth purposefully as the new arrivals fell swiftly into formation.

" _Apparently_ ," Bill spat vindictively, leaning over to Joe rather than David, "Some regiment fella's thought we needed a lil' _help_ down here. Sent in a whole fuckin' special company."

 _Special_ might not have been the right word, Webster thought, but it was closest he could think of then. The soldier's uniforms were mismatched at best, with webbing and jackets seemingly pinched for any number of American forces. Infantry, paratroopers, armoured, the list went on, all carelessly spliced with bits of civilian clothing.

Yet all carried one similarity - a unique insignia stitched proudly to each shoulder. One Webster admitted he didn't recognise as he watched the steadily approaching unit. He wasn't able to dwell on it though as a shove to his side and a skidding body threw him from his thoughts.

"What'd I miss?" Skip hissed against the tense quiet of the arriving soldiers, "Penk lose his left boot again?"

" _Worse_." Toye huffed, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin defensively.

The four paratroopers and their company watched in silence as the first member of the mysterious unit passed them by, eyes narrowed and mouths tightly shut as this unknown leader marched confidently through their number.

The soldier himself, followed unquestionably by his men, barely even acknowledged the paratroopers as he swept by. The most Webster saw of his face came from a short side-glance his way, a dangerous smile, and a wink before the stranger turned his attention back to his path. It was enough to draw David's eyes after the man's retreating back, struck dumb by the odd combination of traits that made up the soldier.

From his arm, in the briefest moment Webster had glimpsed it, he could read the sloping chevrons of a _Master Sergeant_. Along with a leather holster displayed arrogantly across his back, looping beneath his arms, and a pair of officer's knee-highs, that was all David had registered of his clothing.

The paratrooper had been too preoccupied with the man's crudely slicked hair, the dark locks falling across his forehead to frame a pair of intelligent eyes, strong nose, and handsome face. One that had David transfixed by the playful wink he'd had directed his way, confident that he was the intended target since the stranger had locked gazes with him so unrelentingly. Despite his average stature, Webster was sure by only that smallest of interactions that this was a man who could go toe-to-toe with God himself and never waver in his glare.

He became distracted again when Skip shifted beside him, their shoulders pressed uncomfortably against each other where the smaller man had wormed his way into the space between David and Bill. The blond had moved to adjust his helmet, lifting the rim to get a better look at the second stranger to pass the group.

A seemingly completely different character to the chiselled leader who had strut so confidently by a moment before, their only relation the unfamiliar insignia against their shoulders. No, this man was rougher, frayed at the edges, from his unkempt beard to the hands he had buried deep in his jacket pockets. He might have seemed comical, with his unapproachable expression and vibrant red hair.

But he held the same unrelenting stare, though this time it was from brown eyes that seemed more exhausted and saddened than any of them could conceive of. The stranger gave the group even less attention, sparing only the briefest glance their way before continuing.

He happened to meet Skip's gaze, who met his glare with wide-eyes and a smile. The redhead only adjusted his shouldered rifle, helmet rattling against his back as he continued, the concerning amount of grenades attached to his bags grating against each other as he moved.

The third and final man of note appeared at the very head of the following column, as if shepherding the remaining soldiers, like a sheepdog on the heels of two very unsatisfied owners. He was, once again, an entirely unrelated character, who passed them with a smile and a wave as he ushered the rest of his company through.

Even Toye struggled to retain his aggressive frown, his face moving to confusion as the short, dark haired stranger grinned toothily across the distance separating them. How such a small body could carry such a large radio so effortlessly almost impressed the paratrooper, watching the soldier send him a half-hearted salute as he continued after his unit, his smile never once wavering as he passed.

And Easy company could only watch them pass, closing in behind like a group of intrigued deer. Waiting, looking over the scene as the mysterious arrivals marched towards their COs, all the while wondering after the unfamiliar insignia on the shoulders of each and every stranger.

 

 

Winters surveyed the approaching column with much less distrust, brows knitted together only in confusion, the confident strides of the unit's leader bringing him to stop directly in the Captain's path. Another brief moment of silence echoed on, before Nixon turned to Dick, motioning between the two facing parties with his lit cigarette.

"Captain Winters," Lew said with a smile, "Meet _Sergeant Joseph Liebgott_. Commander of the OSS unit under the First Special Service Force. Or, more specifically,"

Nix paused to take a satisfied drag of his smoke.

" _The 1st Mamzer Regiment_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna explain the reasoning behind the name of Liebgott's regiment but I feel like it'd be better writing to actually have it explained within the fic, so scratch that!

In the silence that stretched between the two men, toe-to-toe, eyes locked with determination, Nix took the time to finish the final drags of his dying smoke. It wasn't a difficult feat, as it was only a brief interlude after he spoke before the smiling Sergeant extended a hand to Winters.

"Pleasure." The Mamzer leader - _Liebgott_ \- said simply, his grin all teeth and no retreat.

Dick took the hand bravely, without the appropriate air of handling a live grenade, shaking it once firmly before moving his fingers up to a more professional salute. He was surprised, if not impressed, by how quickly the stranger followed. A perfectly mirrored salute was sent his way, Liebgott's hand only falling from the gesture when Winter's did the same.

All while Nix stood smugly to the side, grinning like he'd brought the biggest and most extravagant gift to a wedding party.

The staring contest between the two commanders was only broken when Liebgott turned his eyes on the distant ruins, glinting in the sun. A glass castle, shining in the heat. It seemed to only bring a wider smile to the man's face as he took a step to the right, surveying what remained of the town with tactical precision.

"The ridge has been proving difficult to attack." Winters supplied helpfully, frowning at the lack of face now turned his way, "The sheer drop on one side an' the long incline on the other doesn't give much choice of attack. Since the occupiers have the high-ground-"

"How many?"

The conversation, what there was of it, ground to a screeching halt. The redhead blinked, then blinked again, brow creasing back into the familiar lines of confusion. A spared glance at Nixon proved fruitless, as the bearded man simply shrugged, raising his eyebrows in dismissal.

Dick turned back to the Sergeant. "How many...?" He questioned, his tone firm but curious. Maintaining control. It didn't take a genius to see that this Liebgott would happily jump on any sign of weakness he found in a soldier, German or otherwise.

Somehow, the answer didn't fail to surprise.

" _Krauts_." Joseph said curtly, turning away from the ruins, satisfied in what he'd seen, "How many."

Winters could feel the smile against his neck, radiating from Lewis behind him. Thankfully, another brief glance his way had Nix attempting to force his pleased expression down a notch.

"Two companies, at least. Four at worst." And now he had Liebgott's full attention, staring him down as he rattled off the information he knew, "Minimal artillery, and even less ammunition. It would explain why they stopped shelling the tree line just after dawn."

Joseph nodded, pursing his lips as he took in the information. And if his first question had been unexpected, his second visibly caught Winters off guard.

"They SS?"

Just as Dick had adjusted his posture, attempting to find an appropriate answer, a voice to his right had spoken.

" _Yes_." Said Nixon, earning him a glance from Liebgott. Followed by a toothy smile.

" _Wonderful_."

Winters could only glance between the two, confused by the exchange. As if a silent conversation was being enacted right under his nose, the two dark haired men locking gazes for a moment too long before either spoke.

Liebgott turned back to the redhead, grin still present but thankfully dulled by a more serious demeanour.

"Thank you, sir." The Sergeant now motioned to the ruins with his hand, "I appreciate the update. I'd like your permission to take my boys up there in a two-pronged attack, starting here-"

Dick could only stand dumbly, occasionally nodding his approval, as the conversation was once again suddenly dragged in a different direction. Thankfully it was one he found familiar, outlining objective strategy and how to best get up that forsaken hill. Winters found it almost disconcerting how well prepared the Sergeant had arrived, gesturing over the ruins as he explained a tight and disciplined course of action.

One that Dick could mercifully find no obvious flaws in.

"If there's anything Easy can provide to help, it's at your disposal." Dick added, once he had approved each of Liebgott's proposed methods. Not that he actually thought the man needed his permission, with his sharp eyes and attitude of talking only as a formality. "We appreciate your presence here."

"Thank you." Joseph concluded, his hand reaching up once again to perform another pristine salute. A gesture that just didn't fit his mismatched uniform and dirty gun holster, "As we appreciate the opportunity, sir."

 And with that, the exchange ended, the mysterious commander starting off back into the trees as soon as Winters had returned his salute. Towards his waiting company, all stood perfectly content to wait at his heels for their orders.

Liebgott's retreat wasn't without a short pause, however, with just enough time to stop and lean over to Nixon. As much as Dick hated eavesdropping, felt ashamed doing it, he couldn't help but overhear the words muttered crudely into Lewis' ear.

" _Didn't think you'd call us in for just another Wehrmacht hunt._ "

 

 

Webster found himself staring after the foreign Sergeant, tracing each fall of the man's boots until he stopped to address Winters. The small group of officers - _and one NCO_ , David supposed - remained too far away to listen in on, but Webster thought that for the best. He didn't need any more fuel for his curiosity, already having to tear his gaze from the distant stranger to distract himself from his sudden fixation.

He focused instead on his fellow paratroopers, the closest of which remained watching the intruding regiment the way hawks would watch a nest of mice.

"This is bullshit." Guarnere hissed, adjusting the rifle in his hands stiffly. As if all his joints were reacting with the same disgust that laced his voice, tight and agitated and thoroughly disgruntled by the insult hovering just twenty feet away.

"Yeah," Toye sighed, already distracted by an empty munitions crate, which he swiftly used his boot to upturn, "Can't be helped."

He let himself slump down atop the re-purposed box, its structure creaking under his weight as he stretched out his legs carelessly. A hand reached up to peel the helmet from his sweaty forehead, letting it drop to the dirt in time with Bill aggressively swiping up another nearby crate to sit on.

A string to muttered cusses were let faintly to the wind as Guarnere slammed the makeshift seat down into the earth, making a show of turning his back to the newcomers, facing Toye in stubborn defiance.

"They don't look that bad." Skip added, taking up a third crate to squat down upon.

The man's ability to see any person's silver lining never failed to impress Webster as he circled the group, coming to a stop across from Bill. A strategic position, both for the narrow tree trunk he could lean dismissively against, and the sweeping view he still had of both the new regiment and their mysterious leader.

Who remained locked in conversation with Winters, it seemed, his distant form making vague gestures towards the occupied target.

The honest pride Webster felt couldn't resist the tiniest shred of arrogance raising its ugly head, a bitter snort and smug smile making its way across his face.

If Easy Company - or any of the 506th, for that matter - couldn't take that hill, then this group of rookies hadn't a chance in Hell. Not that David meant to be rude, but it was difficult to see an elite fighting force in a regiment that didn't even seem to have a standard uniform. Maybe they'd been stationed in occupied territory up until then, dressed primarily as civilians or resistance fighters, and had only just been given their old jackets back. Webster thought that was giving a little bit more than the benefit of the doubt, however. More than likely they simply weren't as disciplined, organised, and combat-ready as the mold Easy had been drilled into. They were veterans of D-Day, after all.

"What they doin'?" Bill spat after a minute of silence on his part, the question directed at nobody in particular.

Joe sent his friend an exasperated look, one eyebrow cocked as he nodded to the group of strangers still present past Guarnere's back. "Why don't you turn around an' look?"

" _Hah_." Bill laughed, sarcasm still dripping from the sound, "Ain't worth my time."

Seeing the conversation going nowhere, Webster decided to step in, removing his gaze from its fixation with the mysterious Sergeant's back and onto the intruding regiment.

"Waiting for orders, I think." David relayed, watching the movements from across the trees.

The sight was very similar to their own, almost a perfect mirror of the clustered paratroopers lining their side of the area. The foreign regiment remained tightly packed together, within close reach of one another, shuffling their feet as they chatted briefly amongst themselves. They seemed comfortable around their comrades, enough to drown out the dozen or so glares being sent their way. Either they hadn't noticed or simply chose to ignore how they were being watched, too busy swapping cigarettes and finding their own trees to lean on.

"Christ, that kid's a loud one." Webster heard from his side, glancing down to see Toye chewing agitatedly on a mouthful of gum.

"Which one?" David asked without thinking, curious as to what Joe had spotted that he hadn't.

"You fuckin' deaf?" Bill snapped, crossing his arms tighter across his chest, "I can hear the guy all the way from 'ere."

Despite his pout, Webster didn't take any deep offense to Guarnere's words. He knew the guy wasn't really angry at him, just had his heckles up. Nevertheless, Bill was swiftly proved right as a booming laugh erupted from the group of intruders.

Even Guarnere couldn't help but turn around this time, all four of the men swiveling their gazes onto the small but extravagant figure making such a stir across the grass.

All eyes fell on the same dark haired soldier who had been leading the regiment from behind its commander. Though his radio had been discarded this time, in favour of planting himself atop it, using it as a seat in the same makeshift sense that the paratroopers had used their munitions crates. The small stranger seemed to have gone a step further, however, having collected up a range of his friends' musette bags to create an improvised table, on which he was currently shuffling a deck of playing cards.

Webster could almost feel the heat rising from Guarnere's blood at being seemingly outsmarted by a soldier half his size, with the joyful howls coming from the radioman only fueling the rage simmering under the paratrooper's skin. With a swift jerk of the head, Bill turned back around, muttering a halfhearted threat that quickly petered off into inaudible mumbles and cussing.

"Any idea what their sleeves say?" Skip piped up. He hadn't moved from his position of silent surveillance, lips pressed firmly against his fingers as his elbows rested on his knees.

"No _God damn_ clue." Toye answered slowly, letting the words fall as a long, drawn-out sigh. His legs shifted as he pulled them back in from his stretch, sparing a glance towards the newcomers as another huge laugh erupted from the distant radioman.

"Who cares." Bill muttered, "Could be the fuckin' cavalry for all I care. Don't matter - they're still here to do our jobs while we sit with our thumbs up our asses, waitin' for 'em to fuck up."

And Webster supposed he couldn't fault that description, even as his eyes were once against drawn back to the handsome stranger acting as the newcomers' leader, his dark haired form popping back into view as he approached his men.

The exchange was brief, though David couldn't help but notice how not a single soldier _didn't_ look up, didn't give the Sergeant their full attention as he spoke. Though they remained comfortable, whether seated or lent casually against a tree, all eyes were upon their leader in a flash. And once he was finished, nodding his final dismissal, not a single body remained idle either.

Cigarettes were immediately stomped out and cards quickly swept up from the makeshift table. Suddenly there was no more laughter or amusing chatter, the sounds replaced only by the clatter of ammunition being tossed between hands and the familiar rattle of rifles biting down on a fresh clip of bullets.

It was the first crack in Webster's impression that the poorly dressed, seemingly undisciplined group of soldiers were everything they appeared to be. And it tugged mercilessly at his thoughts as the group departed from his sight, disappearing through the trees towards the ruins, followed fanatically by the eyes of every paratrooper present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for the kudos and comments - they mean a lot!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new perspective, I guess - now with 200% more George Luz

The rough canvas covering the truck felt warm against his hand, heated by the sun as he slid his fingers through its crack. A single sweeping motion had the curtains peeling back to reveal the green canopy of leaves, rays of light illuminating the forest floor. Showing off the hidden landscape of Holland in all its (mostly) untouched splendour. If you ignored the shell craters and surrounding clusters of American soldiers.

_Still pretty though_ , Luz thought, squinting as the sunlight hit his eyes, the truck giving a final lurch before going still.

"Welcome home, boys." He laughed, clambering from the jeep to drop excitedly to the earth below, "Try to keep your noses clean this time."

Several quiet laughs erupted from within the truck as George flipped the catches on the back, successfully lowering the metal barrier that so weakly secured the men inside. He left the rest of the boys to climb out from there, focusing instead on collecting up his radio from the floor of the vehicle.

With a grunt and a determined tug, Luz managed to shift the metal box from the jeep, dragging it from the support of the truck. Even with all his practice, the weight of the thing swinging free still managed to catch him off guard as he forced it onto his back, his balance wavering as his feet fumbled to keep him upright.

He'd already surrendered himself to the feeling of hard ground hitting his ass when he felt a pair of firm hands grab hold, one supporting the beast of a radio whilst the other grabbed roughly as his collar. Despite the lack of a gentle touch, Luz still found himself remaining upright, puffing out his cheeks as he was helped back into position under the box's straps, securing the equipment to his shoulders.

Only once they were both sure he could take the metal's weight did the extra hands release their grip, allowing George to straighten out his jacket and turn around to face the man behind him. All the other occupants of the truck filed seamlessly around them as they went about their own disembarking rituals, leaving Luz to catch his helper with a soft but unimpressed smile.

The bearded redhead in question merely shrugged his shoulders as he lit a cigarette between his gloved palms, the woollen material blackened around his bare fingers from all the smokes brought to life beside them.

"Thanks, Mal." George settled for, knowing full-well that claiming he could have _'done it himself'_ was a lost cause for them both.

"Mnn." Mal hummed, "That thing's gonna be the death of you, I swear."

Releasing a gust of smoke to the wind, Don turned around without a word, starting to walk away from the trucks.

"Oh, yeah?" Luz yelled after him, folding his arms across his chest, "Liebgott tell you that, huh?"

Malark waved his cigarette in the air dismissively, ignoring the question. "Just think," He called back, though he refused to turn around, "One day I'm not gonna be around t'save your ass and it'll crush ya'."

The radioman let out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, might be your only chance to get a promotion!" He watched with a chuckle, his grin returning to its usual toothy nature as his friend's retreating form flashed him a middle finger.

 

 

" _Ooh_!"

The cry was a long, drawn-out sound, followed by a loud hoot of laughter from its owner as he smacked a hand across his thigh. Several good-natured groans also accompanied the sound, hands thrown to the skies in irritation as cards were thrown back to the musette bags in despair.

"That's another six packs for Samson," Luz announced gleefully, sweeping up the discarded playing cards, "Cough up, boys."

"He's bleeding us dry!" One soldier cried, spine clicking as he let his head fall back in anguish.

"Home field, my friend." George laughed, taking the six packs of _Luckies_ reluctantly offered up and arranging them in one neat pile, "Don't play a Dutchman on Dutch soil."

The young man in question - Samson - admittedly looked a little sheepish as he was handed the stack of little treasures, letting them fall into the already significant pile resting in his helmet. He'd placed it upturned in his lap on the suggestion of Luz, to collect his winnings as they continued to kill time waiting for their commander to return. Since they'd watch their Sergeant disappear off towards the officers waiting for him, Samson had managed to burn through a clean streak of victories over several of their group, robbing all but a few of their precious smokes.

"Must be the vaderland's blessing - I didn't think I'd be back so soon." The Dutchman huffed, pushing his blond hair from his forehead, "Not here, at least."

"Yeah, well." George replied, somewhere between the cigarette in his teeth and the cards he was currently shuffling, "Someone's gotta run clean-up for these guys."

A subtle gesture accompanied the words, the radioman's eyes very quickly and distinctly glancing towards the on looking paratroopers. It was the tiniest of signals, but every man listening nodded in understanding. They didn't need the dirty glares and constant looks over their shoulders to communicate. Nor to know exactly what the soldiers eyeing them up like meat were truly thinking.

"And there's no better cleaners than the people who know the house best." Samson admitted solemnly,  sharing agreeable glances with all the men clustered around their makeshift table.

"Well said," George agreed, wagging a finger in the blond's direction, "Though, if that's the case, you'd make a fuckin' terrific trash collector - if you had the stomach for it!"

Another bout of laughter engulfed the circle, punctured only by the thin shadow that crept slowly across the soldiers.

All fell quiet at the approaching footsteps of their leader, stopping amongst their number so he could be heard to the entirety of the company. And Luz would be damned if he didn't see every one of his friends straighten up in their seats, turn their full attention to the Sergeant and lean in. Eager to hear him speak, to soak in every word he had to say. It was an admirable sight, one the radioman took pride in as he too looked up at their commander, still absentmindedly shuffling the cards between his fingers.

"Sorry to leave you in the dark for so long," Liebgott began, flicking a stray leaf from his boot as his eyes roamed across each of his men in turn, "Wanted to get a hand on everything we need to know. Not that it was much different than you could'a guessed, anyway."

Several mumbles of agreement and quiet snorts echoed across the group as the Sergeant continued.

"Usual show. Germans holding up the crossroads - and we want the crossroads. An' normally getting up that ridge would be the 506th's problem, but they've run into difficultly and we all know Colonel Sink doesn't like waiting around."

Another murmur of laughter swept the group.

"How many?" A voice from the back asked. Luz didn't need to turn around to know it was Malarkey.

"There's _\- and I quote_ \- two companies at least, four at worst." Liebgott answered, his clipped tone not even trying to mask his unhappiness with the information. Or _lack of information_ , not knowing exactly how many enemy soldiers he would be running his men into.

A short pause punctuated the redhead's next question across the gathering.

"They SS?"

This brought the smile back to Joe's lips.

"You bet."

The men exchanged looks amongst themselves, glancing between each other with a varied array of expressions, from pleased to disgusted and back. Another swell of pride took George's heart as he surveyed the faces of his friends, not a single one reacting with fear.

Even Samson, who locked eyes with him across the table, looked only forlorn about the news, his chest rising and falling in a tired sigh at the news. Luz didn't blame him. To imagine having Krauts in his home made him feel sick to the stomach. He could see why it exhausted the blond so much, having to return to these same occupiers a second time.

"Any questions?" Liebgott finished with, hands resting on his hips as he waited patiently for his men to settle.

"Yeah, I got one." One soldier asked, "Why'd we get called to clean up these fuckers' mess anyway?"

Joe's grin widened as he glanced at the curious man, though his eyes reflected nothing but approval for the soldier's attitude.

"Call it a personal favour." The Sergeant said dismissively, "We've done this song 'n dance before, and one of their officer's knows it. Family friend, I guess. And he also knows we'll get this shit cleared before it becomes a _real_ problem."

The grunts and nods of understanding marked the end of the questions, and Liebgott mirrored his men, bobbing his head in approval.

"Alright." His words carried more weight than before, his smile softer, "Two minutes. Pack your shit."

With that, he turned away, letting the scene behind him erupt into action. The exhausted cards between George's hands were swiftly pocketed against his chest, the table falling away as its body of musette bags were tugged free by their owners. Rifle bolts snapped and fresh ammo was crunched hungrily into their weapons.

Luz watched Liebgott disappear into the trees as the bodies swirled around him, trudging after the Sergeant in quick succession. And as he stood, Don's strong arms lifting the radio onto his back once more, George couldn't help but think the sunlight looked like a halo around Joe's head. Lighting his dark hair in a warm glow, flickering through the leaves above.

A smile crept across Luz's face, his feet falling into time with Malark's as he trudged after the Sergeant.

_Nah_. Liebgott would better suit a crown of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, I was away this week and couldn't update as regularly as I would've liked!
> 
> also: sorry about the short chapters, but I guess I like to stop them where they feel natural to stop (as long as their 1500+ words) and hopefully, if I keep up these updates, then that'll fit together nicely! again, comments and kudos always much appreciated!! thank you!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super long wait, but hopefully I'm back to more regular updates now, including a double-bill this week as an apology for the delay!

Boots beat against the earth as the soldiers moved out, not so much in a straight line than in a fluid column, weaving its way past the on looking paratroopers.

And though they tried their hardest not to, each member of Easy found their eyes following the foreign division, disappearing into the thick of the trees. That ruined fortress looming just beyond the leafy horizon.

"Where the fuck they goin'?" Bill huffed, having already abandoned his seat to stand defensively upright, rifle resting against his shoulder.

"Scouting the area?" Skip supplied helpfully, his attention torn between the unfolding scene and the square of chocolate currently snapping between his teeth.

"Nothin' to scout." Toye said, "The only road up's pinned down by just about every kind a' Hell. Snipers, machine guns, you name it. _Fuckin' suicide path_."

Webster found his brow creasing in confusion, intrigued even as the mysterious regiment and its handsome leader disappeared from sight.

"What could they possibly hope to achieve?" He found himself whispering, for his own ears more than anyone else's.

He was still overheard, however, by the slouched body that sidled up behind him.

"Obviously, they're going to take the objective." Nix said simply, taking a brief sip from his flask. As if merely commenting on the nice weather.

The few men still seated - Joe and Skip - stood up to greet the suddenly appearing officer, though nobody felt the need to take any more formalities. Webster turned to face the bearded man, frown still present as he studied the captain's distant stare.

"And how exactly do they plan to do that, sir?" David asked flatly, his tone just below smugness.

Because they'd all been part of the first attempt - _and following failure_ \- to do the same thing. Just hours earlier, in fact. They'd seen the task and attacked it head on. But it was seemingly impossible.

"The only way they can." Nix hummed, giving no acknowledgement of Webster's pointed staring, "They're going to walk straight up the road."

The brief moment of disbelieving silence summed up the collective opinion on Lew's word. Bill's snort of laughter was only a greater testament to it as he folded his arms across his chest with a smile.

"They're gonna get themselves killed."

David would have believed that, had he not been so focused on their Captain's line of sight. It remained fixed on the thick forest the regiment has disappeared beyond, anchored to it. Unmoving. As if Nixon could see something the rest of them could not, his empty expression entirely void of worry.

A face of cold resignation. He knew the outcome before the pieces were even in place.

"Either way, our orders are to support the assault." Another quick swig from his flask before it disappeared within his jacket lining, "So ready up."

"We're supporting a suicide rush?" Joe questioned, and even Skip seemed reluctant to collect his bags from their position, discarded around their feet.

"We're supporting an _attack_."

This time it wasn't Nixon who spoke, but rather a stony-faced Winters who stepped up to his side. Webster noticed the smallest crease of concern in the redhead's brow, even as he gave such unquestionable commands.

"Tell everyone to be ready. We move out in 3 minutes." Dick turned to leave, but stopped to add, "And be on your toes. We can't trust this will all go perfectly to plan."

With that, he walked away, Nix at his heels and a group of silent troopers in his stead. Webster traded the same look with Toye as Bill did with Skip - a wordless, wide-eyed expression of concern. This was unlike anything they had done before.

And it didn't help to have Winter's uncertain words ringing in their ears.

 

 

 

The road wasn't even fit to be called one.

It resembled a wide dirt path, weaving a ribbon of even ground up the jagged hill. It curved and flowed to its crest, were it met with two ruined stone pillars at the entrance to the town. This finishing line was but a distant dream under the glaring sunlight, no bigger than a finger from the safety of the trees.

This was where Webster squatted, silent amongst the brush, plant stems swaying across his sightline as the breeze tickled his cheek. By his side, the rest of Easy remained similarly crouched, lining the cover of the forest with helmets. Nobody spoke, the only sounds being the occasional cough and the soft ruffle of Skip hastily finishing the last of his Hershey bar.

The company's focus remained on the group that stood ahead of them, having advanced to the very edge of the trees. A group that could almost mimic theirs, were it not for the mismatched uniforms and lack of eagle insignia.

After 3 minutes of hastily grabbing their equipment and settling into position, the current wait for any movement seemed to be dragging forever. The huddled regiment ahead didn't seem to be speaking much either, besides the occasional brief exchange around the dark haired commander. He was one of the few without a helmet, David noted, along with a redhead and another brown haired man with a radio against his back. Maybe it was to make him easily identifiable.

Or maybe it was unprofessionalism, the more cynical side of Webster's mind concluded.

Never the less, there was still little to no movement from the leading party. And without a clear time of execution, David wondered if this attack would even take place.

"The fuck're they doin'?" Martin hissed at his side, followed by a soft shushing sound from Bull, who loomed behind the tiny man like a meaty guardian angel.

Speaking of the Devil seemed to work it's metaphorical magic, however; as soon as the words had left Johnny's mouth, two of the foreign regiment's number departed from the group. The redhead and radio operator were surprisingly swift on their feet, heads kept low as they ran, hunched over, into the right side of trees. They disappeared amongst the leaves, seemingly retreating from the road that would lead the attack to its destination.

"Maybe one of them forgot their lunch." Penkala murmured, followed by a soft grunt as he was slapped on the arm by Skip.

It didn't stop the chorus of muffled laughter from the company, many of the men using their sleeves to cover their snorts. Even Webster couldn't fight his smile, bowing his head momentarily to get his expression under control.

When he looked back up, the regiment ahead of them had vanished.

Or rather, they had began to advance up the road. They adopted a similar position to their deserting comrades, heads low and rifles at the ready, jogging as quietly as possible on the dusty path to their objective.

"God help the fuckers." Surfaced a whisper amongst Easy's ranks.

There was a murmur of agreement as the paratroopers remained frozen in the safety of their cover. Just like they had been ordered.

Webster couldn't lie; he was glad to be in this supporting position. The bullet riddled carts, broken rocks, and burnt out jeeps that lined the banks of the road were enough proof. This was a suicide path, just like Toye had said. The brown pools of dried blood and discarded ammunition only decorated the deadly lane, if the corpses weren't enough.

All in American uniforms, laid carelessly where they fell. Faces to the grit, their pale limbs becoming only tiny obstacles for this foolish new regiment to lift their boots over. Fresh footprints to replace the bloody ones Easy had left earlier, along with the long drag marks that marked their wounded comrades. They'd managed to get some of the injured back to the bottom of the hill.

The dead they'd had to leave.

None of them liked it, but none of them fought it either. They knew were necessity drew its ugly line.

Easy could only watch in grim silence as this alien group advanced up the road in their place, quietly gaining ground as the ruins loomed before them, similarly quiet.

Eerily so.

In the sunlight, Webster squinted to try and make out the regiment's leader. He had clearly opted to wear his helmet for the actual assault, as the paratrooper found it difficult to single him out amongst the constantly shifting column of soldiers.

At first, David thought he'd find the commander at the rear, giving directions or surveying the advance. But no such luck found him, each of the helmets unmarked by any recognisable decals. As his eyes swept up the lines of men, Webster found no sign of the leader, even as he neared the very front and furthest point of the attack.

Martin glanced to his side, frowning as he heard the private give a sharp inhale of breath.

David's eyes grew wide, filled with confusion and a unexplainable sense of concern, following the tiny figure that was leading the very head of the assault. He wished he was mistaken, but there was no denying the sharp angles of the face and leather holster across his back.

The unit's commander, the one Webster found himself so irritatingly intrigued by, was directing his men from the very front.

A death wish if David ever saw one.

He watched with baited breath as the commander ducked behind an upturned cart, the wood splintered and bleached pale in the heat. Another soldier followed, crouching beside him to exchange brief words. At the head of the advance, they now sat almost two thirds of the way up the road. Close enough to push forward into the ruins.

And too far away for reinforcements. Out of help's reach.

The wheel of the cart squeaked in the silence, spinning in the breeze. Webster watched the commander nod and make a hand gesture he couldn't define. The soldier who had approached nodded in turn before darting out back down the road to reach the following men.

The sound of ripping air and snapping metal punctuated the clearing, the silence broken by the sound of a bullet piercing the sprinting man's helmet. Blood splattered the dust as his knees hit the road, followed by his torso as Easy watched in tense pity.

"Poor bastards." Martin murmured, his voice almost drowned out by the explosion of gunfire.

The paratroopers instinctively dropped their heads, bodies near flat against the earth as the familiar whistling of machine gunfire opened out across the road, raining down on the advancing regiment without remorse.

Though no rounds were directed their way, Webster could still make out his own heavy breathing as he scrambled to get into a safe position from which he could still see. Dry dirt became smeared against his cheek from where he'd dived. The soldiers at his sides and back had done similar, all as transfixed by the scene as they were fearful of stray rounds.

The rattle of the machine guns was distant, but it echoed loudly against the stone walls of the ruins, mixing with the hammering of the bullets on the road to create a defending roar that filled David's mind and had him clutching his helmet for comfort. This peppering sound, coming from multiple sources, was broken only by the defining whistle of a sniper firing into the fray. A sweet high pitched sound of burning air, followed by that horrible ping of metal on metal, as another man fell victim to the enemy's accuracy.

Squinting through the leaves, Webster finally found a way to survey the action from his cover. Forced to take shelter behind the broken vehicles and discarded farm equipment, the advance had slowed to a crawl. The men who dared try to move between these shields, attempting to reach the fallen soldiers still visibly squirming on the bloody road, quickly fell with heavy thuds. The rain of bullets was breathtaking, just as Easy had found earlier.

With a rising panic, David scanned the distant figures for the familiar sergeant's helmet. Even though he now knew what to look for, it still proved more difficult than he imagined, the crisscrossing bodies and sprinting blurs of soldiers distracting him from his search.

How the men of this strange regiment could still be attempting to advance through that storm was impressive if nothing else, and Webster noticed the lack of comments coming from his surrounding comrades. They were as dumbstruck as he, watching the soldiers dart out one by one in the hopes of reaching the next cover, despite so many of them failing to do so.

And that was where David found his man, hunched down behind a crumbling rock that jutted out from the hillside. The sergeant had made it up a considerable distance since last the paratrooper spotted him, now barely 100 feet from his goal. Still in the lead, putting himself in front of all his men. Calling to them where they could see him, gesturing wildly as the sunlight glinted from his helmet.

In his adrenaline haze, Webster momentarily drowned out the gunfire to focus solely on that one man. Whom, he noticed, even with bodies strewn across the  ground, never let his company advance without him. If one of them dared run further up the slope, their sergeant would go with them, ensuring he was always at the head of their assault.

It was unlike anything David had ever seen, squinting as he watched that distant face bellow across the road, shouting orders as his face contorted with aggression.

An expression that reminded the paratrooper of a lion, rearing its head to roar at its foe in defiant anger.

He shamefully admitted to himself that he longed for binoculars to use, despite the carnage that was unfolding before him. If only to get a better view of that strange sergeant.

 

 

 

Another soldier fell with a cry to the dusty road, visible in horrific detail through the glass lenses held to Winter's eyes. He lowered the binoculars with a frustrated sound, shifting uncomfortably against the bushes. It felt wrong to simply watch, to not send in some form of help.

Not that he could do anything. Any reinforcements would be mowed down before they could even reach the back of the advance. And it would only bring unwanted attention to Easy's cover, a danger Dick could never allow himself to put his men in.

"They've got to retreat." Winters hissed through gritted teeth, his face creasing in pain as he watched gunfire tear through another man's body.

"They'll only get picked off on the way down." Nix supplied, his voice unusually cold, "They'll lose more men retreating than they will carrying on."

"They'll _all_ be killed if they carry on!" Dick snapped, his voice steady despite his agitation.

Looking at Lew, the redhead found his tension disperse instantly, swept away by the serene look he found on the captain's face. An empty, calculating stare followed the advancing regiment from Nixon's eyes, body still and unmoving beneath the cover of the trees.

There was no concern there. Only resignation.

It had Dick's shoulders drooping in a sigh, turning back to the scene unfolding so bloodily before them. Liebgott's words echoed in his mind, sounding truly arrogant against the background of machine guns and fallen soldiers.

_"On the signal given by my men, Easy company should advance on the hill."_

Raising the binoculars scopes, Winters stared out across the storm. He had sworn he would wait, though it didn't stop him hoping this signal would appear sooner rather than later.

 

 

 

"Whatever signal they're givin' us better not be straight into this mess!" Skip cried, having to raise his voice over the noise, "We're gonna be running headfirst into those guns!"

There were grunts of agreement, with several nods and an internal sigh of relief from Webster. He was glad to have someone voice their collective worries out loud.

"What is the damn signal anyway?" Guarnere asked, directing his question towards Martin, whose focus remained steadfastly on the battle ahead.

The sergeant opened his mouth to respond, turning his head but refusing to take his eyes off the objective. As he did so, his words were blotted out by the resounding crash and deafening boom of the exploding ruins.

Several cries of shock erupted from the company as they watched one of the nearest towers, already devastated by previous raids, split in half as dust and smoke burst into the air. The detonation was followed by another, screams in an unfamiliar language erupting from the hilltop as the gunfire stuttered. The town's foremost ruins were reduced to rubble before the company's eyes, taking the rattle of machine guns and whistle of bullets with them as they were left to the remaining flames.

Johnny clutched his helmet as he jumped to his feet, the clouds of dust obscuring the hilltop ahead, motioning to follow with his hand as he shouted out across their lines.

" _That's_ the signal!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the great comments, it means a lot! and thank you for sticking with this fic! the next chapter will be from Lieb, Luz, and Mal's angle, explaining exactly what they planned!
> 
> sorry for the somewhat slow pacing, the beginning of fics can be like that. plus, just like in the show, between later chapters the time-gap is quite big, making up for the less eventful between different operations - which makes it possible to condense 2 years or so into one fic! I hope you're enjoying this anyway, so stay tuned for more!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Luz, Malark, and Liebgott's POV this time.

"You sure this is the same place?" Don asked, hunched over his knees where they squatted at the treeline, "Looks different."

"Yeah, artillery shells'll do that to a place, Mal." Luz huffed, his smile only growing as Malark slapped his arm.

"It's the same place." Liebgott answered, eyes focused solely on the distant ruins.

He said no more on the matter, having enough faith in his men to know they'd trust his judgment. He doubted Nixon would have called on them so urgently if it had been anywhere else. _No better cleaners than those who know the house best._

"Won't matter though,"  The redhead at his back muttered, "If they've already blocked them off."

There was a brief moment of quiet between the three point  men, each of them chewing on the words in silence. Their uncovered heads marked the very front of the waiting unit, every soldier crouched and poised to strike. To begin their fast approaching advance up the dusty, broken road.

"They'll be there." Joseph finally murmured, turning his head away from the hilltop for the first time. "They haven't found them, much less blocked them."

He locked eyes with each of the two men in turn, individually meeting their stares before he spoke.

"They'd be covering their flank heavily otherwise. It's a weak point, even if blocked."

Once again, he left his explanation short, returning to steady silence. And, again, he trusted it was enough for his friends to work with. The fixed gazes sent his way, calm and unwavering, confirmed Liebgott's expectations. His men trusted his judgement.

Just as he trusted them to carry this plan through.

"Go." With a sharp jerk of his head, Joe dismissed the pair in their ordered direction, "Get it done."

"5 minutes." Don added with a nod, getting back on his feet.

"I'll keep support on the line." Luz chuckled, jabbing his thumb back at the paratroopers watching their group from afar, "Make sure they know what a _signal_ means."

Liebgott hummed his response, but it fell only on retreating backs as the two soldiers snuck away into the brush. Though his head remained turned towards the objective, Joe allowed himself to glance after them, following their footfalls until he could no longer spot the telltale glint of red hair.

He didn't need to tell them to be careful. They'd held back the very same words themselves.

Gaze returning to the hilltop, Lieb slipped his helmet back across his dark locks. The metal glinted in the sunlight. A click of the bolt and he readied his rifle, twisting his neck to look over his shoulder. The eyes of his regiment looked to him expectantly, bravely staring down the fortress towering above.

Lieb smiled. He raised his hand, motioning twice towards the extending road. The group got to their feet and moved up the hill.

The advance had begun.

 

 

 

"Liebgott's got an awful lot a' faith in these 506th guys." Luz muttered, watching the sun trickle through the leaves above, "The whole objective hinges pretty heavily on their involvement."

" _It'll be fine_." Malark replied. A short, cut response as he moved slowly through the surrounding bushes, counting his footfalls precisely.

George watched in content silence, rifle poised over a tree root where he lay, sprawled with his chest to the earth. Though he couldn't see the town's ruins from here, he had his sights on that direction, just waiting for something to move. They were alone, after all, and while Don was busy enacting their plan that left him on guard duty.

"Still, we don't know much about 'em." The radioman murmured.

"If Liebgott trusts 'em," Malark whispered, his footfalls suddenly halting, "Then so do I."

Both men looked across at where the redhead's boot was fixed, the man crouched over a single patch of leaf-strewn dirt. Bouncing his heel against the ground revealed more than met the eye, the dirt shifting and giving off a hollow creak under the weight.

Don smirked.

"Huh."

Liebgott had been right, just like he always was.

Bending over the suspicious patch, Don began hastily freeing the dirt with his hands. His fingernails came away filthy as he dug into the forest's floor, scratching at the clumps of rock and mud that fell back from the undergrowth.

"You could always use a shovel." George chuckled, glancing at the folded tool strapped to Don's hip.

"Too late." Malark huffed, triumphantly sitting back on his heels with a sharp intake of breath.

The next second and he was flipping the rusted metal catches off the wooden panel, heaving the weighty door upwards and over itself to reveal the dark pit below. Barely wide enough for a man's shoulders, the tunnel stretched eerily down into the depths, the jagged roots and rocks of its wall the only ladder in sight.

"Can't say I envy you." George mused, crawling over to the hole and craning his neck.

The pair of them stared down into the darkness for a brief moment. With a flick of his boot, Don sent a handful of pebbles and earth cascading into the pit. Barely a second passed before they heard an unfamiliar plop and rippling echo.

"Flooded." Malark hissed, more irritated than concerned, "Must be chest-deep by now."

"Or worse..." Luz whispered.

The redhead sent a harsh look his way, apparently ready to reprimand, but it softened as their eyes met. George's frown and unusually tight lips only voiced concern for hi friends. Nothing else.

The sound of gunfire broke the tension, the pair of soldiers hastily ducking their heads against the noise. A glance into the trees revealed nothing, the sound resounding from the road approaching the ruins. The assault had already started.

Without hesitation, Don swung his legs into the hole, boots dangling above the darkness. Luz had already removed the radio from his back, one hand resting unsteadily on the receiver, the other propping his rifle back over the tree root.

Leather squeaked against damp rock as Don shimmied his hips into the opening, boots digging into the uneven walls. He had climbed down enough to obscure all but his head when a hand reached out and grabbed his uniform, finger burying themselves in the dirty fabric. He was held by his shirt alone, poised to descend as he fell still under the sudden contact.

George's knuckles where white he was clenching his fist so hard, eyes still on the empty trees as Malark glanced his way.

"You come back, Don." The radioman whispered.

Blinking in the light, the redhead couldn't help but smile sadly.

"I will, George."

With a rattle of grenades, Don disappeared down into the tunnel. His comrade listened closely for the sounds of him clambering downwards, closing his eyes in a grimace as he heard the distant splash of a body hitting water.

_We're counting on you._

 

 

 

"Move up."

The hiss of his voice cut through the eerie quiet, dust clouding the air as the soldiers' boots scraped against the road. Licking his lips against the dryness threatening his mouth, Liebgott dared a peek over his cover. Silent, unmoving ruins greeted his gaze, the only sound the footfalls behind as his whispered orders were put into action..

In a reflection of his own words, the sergeant moved out from behind his current shield - an uneven rock, stood firmly between him and his objective. His feet skidded in the dirt as he ducked behind a replacement cart several yards up the path, slamming his back to the wood with a soft grunt.

Sunlight flashed across his chest, flickering as it shone between the struts of the cart's spinning wheel.

The wood squeaked, bringing a cuss from the commander's mouth as he glared through the tiny cracks in his cover, trying to make out some kind of movement. Only stillness greeted his efforts, the ruins appearing as empty of life as any tomb.

Liebgott knew better.

He took the chance to look back over the attack, over the huddled forms of his unit, taking shelter behind anything still standing. Joseph's eyes roamed the clusters of men, all facing him with grim determination beneath the rims of their helmets. All their gazes choosing not to linger on the motionless corpses of fallen paratroopers, lining the path thus far.

Joseph found it easier to focus instead on the shining eyes of the approaching soldier, who sprinted up the remaining distance to stop at his side. A familiar blond head crouched down next to the sergeant, close enough that Liebgott could count the freckles on the man's face.

"We're ready when you are." Samson whispered, scratching his chin as he nodded towards the ruin's pillars - absent of gates to hinder then.

"Alright." Joseph muttered, nodding thoughtfully as he shifted the rifle butt against his shoulder, "They're waiting on our move. Pissing about 'n taking it slow isn't gonna work in our favour."

The sergeant turned his eyes back on the Dutchman.

" _One push_ , to the top." Liebgott jerked his head back down the hill, "On me. Get 'em ready."

Samson nodded his understanding, sent on his way by a reassuring slap on the shoulder from his sergeant. He retreated back down the hill smiling, hunched over as he darted back towards another piece of cover.

Joseph could only watch as the blond's helmet crumpled beneath the sniper's bullet, spraying crimson across the road. Samson was dead before his body hit the ground.

Gunfire opened out onto the advancing soldiers. A rain of bullets and screeching metal, punctuated by the shouts and groans of those struck down by the hail. Splinters exploded from the cart Liebgott had taken shelter behind, breaking off to tear holes in his jacket. An angered hiss came through gritted teeth as his ran a fist across his cheek, feeling the familiar sting of a cut and the warmth of blood on his hand.

It was a small price to pay, he reminded himself.

The men in those ruins would pay far dearer.

 

 

 

The flashes of machine guns and screeching of rifles continued without restraint, lighting up the distant battle beyond the treeline. Hidden beneath the leaves and safe from enemy fire, Luz felt none of the tension lift from his muscles. The pads of his fingers gripped his rifle as if ready to strangle it, the hand still on the radio's receiver bouncing impatiently.

_Come on, come on, come on-!_

George felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead. He didn't dare wipe it away, lest that be the moment he needed to raise the radio to his ear or worse, fire a shot.

Yet, somehow, despite all his agitation and desperation for things to happen faster, he didn't feel the need to move from his position. Don would do his job, just as Liebgott would do his.

He had faith in that, if nothing else.

 

 

 

"Keeping moving!" Liebgott screamed, roaring over his shoulder as he made another valiant dash up to the next piece of cover. "A still man's a dead man!"

Sometimes, in the dark of the night, when he was lying awake staring up at the folds of a tent canvas or the cracked ceiling of some French cottage or even just at the stars themselves - Liebgott would wonder why his men even listened to him. He'd dismiss the thought, replacing it with a bitter wish that, when it came to situations as deadly as these, they simply wouldn't listen.

Disobey. Flee. Turn around with their tails between their legs and run back down that hill.

In the glaring sunlight and billowing dust of that road, however, he knew they never could. As he watched each of the men who dared to push up, to follow his lead further towards the objective, fall with a scream or a grunt or nothing but a whimper.

They were getting closer and closer to the top. And more and more of them were getting hit.

Peering around the rock he had taken shelter behind, Liebgott glanced at the ruins towering above and dared to wonder where their signal was. He pulled his head back quickly as bullets rained down, pushing the thought away and returning to wildly gesturing to his men. Encouraging them, commanding them to keep moving.

"Move up!" He cried, spinning on his heel and scrambling to climb further up the path, "Move up-!"

As he took his final stride out from behind cover, barely 100 feet from the town's pillars, Joseph felt all eyes turn to him. On the sun reflecting from his helmet, the swivel of barrels as the enemy closed their sights on his head.

His eyes squeezed shut against the impact he felt then, though it wasn't from a bullet wound. It was the cloud of dust that struck him, the blast of hot air, and the booming sound of the explosion echoing from within.

The gunfire stalled. The ruins crumbled.

And Liebgott could only let out a terrible cackle as he heard the familiar shrieks of German soldiers, opening his eyes with a crooked grin and a renewed breath of life in his lungs. His feet found the dirt with a confidence unlike before as he threw caution to the wind, forgetting the spots of cover peppering the road ahead.

He sprinted for the town's opening alone, his men at his heels.

_Perfect timing, Don._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, after this assault, this story will move more towards its pairings and individual interactions between the 506th and the Mamzer regiment. but I hoped I was able to portray the comradery between Lieb's boys and set up their unit's way of working! and as always, thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while, but I've received such amazing comments on this fic that I just...I have to update it more often!

Webster couldn't understand it.

How the ruins fell away, sliding down atop each other. Shattered like glass under an earth shaking quake that he felt rattle the soles of his boots. Dust swirled upwards and smoke cascaded down the path, obscuring the disappearing unit from view. That fearless sergeant leading his charge right into the now broken jaws of the enemy stronghold.

Webster couldn't understand it, how these men had made a molehill out of a mountain.

"C'mon, move it, sunshine!" Guarnere was wasting no time in beginning their own advance, shoving shoulders with anyone who dared obstruct him. Johnny was hot on his heels, with a heavy sigh and a barked order to move up.

Their training set in, the hilltop ceasing to be special for a moment. Just another castle to storm as the Toccoan men abandoned their cover to sprint headfirst up the incline. Helmets glinting in the sunlight, giving encouragement to the soldier behind, who in turn waved up the next.

As Webster's boots pounded against the rough terrain, only occasionally stopping to take half-hearted cover behind protruding rocks, he found he couldn't help but notice the ease of it all. The usual thundering rush of blood in his ears had given way to a quiet beating of his heart - still erratic, filled with adrenaline, but lacking the common fear they all worked so hard to ignore.

He even had the time to glance across the upward snaking road, now occupied only by the unlucky corpses of strangers, to the opposite side of the ridge. There, the other half of Easy was advancing, making an identical sprint up the steep incline. Over craters and upturned earth, their biggest threat seemingly being the difficulty in staying upright. David could make out Babe Heffron's face as he tripped and fell with a cry, helped up in a flash by a magically appearing Eugene Roe.

Turning his attention back to their target, back on his feet and ready to continue the climb, Webster didn't want to admit how effectively their visitors had done their job. The irritating sensation of logic pawed at his mind as he jumped what remained of the town's outer wall, passing the crumpled machine gun nests amidst the rubble. With them gone, their most horrific obstacle had been removed, and the private had to fight the sensation that it was all thanks to some mystery regiment.

A pride in his company he wasn't aware he possessed had surfaced, crying out over his calm reasoning. Of course taking out the machine guns _helped_ , he couldn't contest that. But it wasn't as if Easy Company had _failed_ , as such, _merely_...

Webster found he couldn't finish the sentence as his back hit the pillar of what was once an ancient guardhouse. Reduced to a decaying skeleton structure, wooden door in tatters and rafters barely holding up what lingered of its roof.

The town itself looked little better, the paratroopers running in and out of its streets like a infestation of ants. The old stone walls of the ancient houses could only sustain so much, many crippled completely under whatever force had caused the signal explosion. Some seemed to have been swallowed into the ground entirely.

Amidst the far off gunfire and closer calls to move up, Webster took a moment to skirt one such chasm. He pointed his rifle sight down first - he wasn't a fool - followed by peering over the edge. From his position balanced on the few torn floorboards still embedded on the surface, he could see straight into the carnage of the crater. Shattered furniture and artillery had fallen down to be plastered amongst the bricks and dislodged dirt of an explosion that seemed to have blown out the very foundations of the building. Two stories of wooden floors and household items, as well as several German troops, had become the crater's prey, Webster treading carefully for fear of slipping and suffering the twenty foot drop himself.

A distant grenade brought him back into action, taking off into a sprint after his quickly disappearing company. Webster found himself on the edge of a small huddle, the gunfire seeming to still be retreating away far ahead of them.

"Toye, Guarnere, take point. Skip and Penkala will check these houses - the rest of you up the main street." Johnny only looked up to peer across the town square - their company remaining resolutely under the cover of the archways and porches still on looking the exposed space. His eyes met Lipton in the distance, who gestured towards the remaining expanse of town. "We'll hook up with Lip on the other side."

There came several short affirmative noises and nods before they all broke away, heading in their own directions. Webster was only stopped from following after Toye by Martin's hand, to steered him towards a lingering Skip instead.

"You're with them, Webster." He stated, leaving no room for argument even as David opened his mouth to ask. He was thankfully graced with an explanation. "Other regiment cleared 'em but just in case you find anyone; they need someone who speaks Kraut."

Ah. So that was why the normally cautious sergeant was ignoring the mass of silent buildings on looking the square. As Easy disappeared once again towards the distant sound of gunfire, Webster was left with a chance to inspect his surroundings.

Every doorway they had passed had been destroyed, the tell-tale soot and scorch marks displaying every sign that a grenade had been tossed inside. What stayed with David, however, was the consistency, as he followed a reluctant Penkala into one such home. Not a single room was un burned, every one having been broken into with the whistle of an explosive. No hesitation. No mercy.

"They sure did a number on these guys..." Skip muttered, peering up the stairs.

Another destroyed floor greeted him, this time with the smell of blood upon it. He didn't need to double check the bodies were unmoving, their grey uniforms stained and torn under the bullets that punctured their forms. He had to sigh.

He was quick to usher both Penkala and Webster away, coming back out under the archways as he pointed to the next three houses.

"One each," He said calmly, his usual light tone hardened into an encouraging leader, "If our mystery saviours missed anything, just holler. We'll come runnin'."

"You sure?" David laughed a little nervously, even as Penkala disappeared tentatively into the nearest blasted doorway, "Seems a little bold."

"We'll be done three times as fast." Skip said with a shrug, carefully aiming his rifle into the second building, only pausing to give his comrade a toothy grin, "Why, Webster? Nervous in the service?"

David gave a half-snort, half-scoff of indignation, rattling off some explanation that fell on deaf ears. Skip had already vanished into the house. Leaving the dark haired man alone in the street, quickly shuffling over to the third and final target in the row.

A sorry state it was in too, the earlier grenade having turned the entrance into more of a cave opening in this case. The windows had been shattered long ago, but glass still remained to crunch under Webster's boots as he edged into the shadows of the house. Step by step, inch by inch. Never too careful as he shifted his weight to be as quiet as possible. Not that it seemed necessary, the whole town seemingly swept through by their mystery allies.

With not a single prisoner to show for it, either.

Something that lingered in the soldier's mind as he scouted the upper floor. A one-room affair, something he only glanced around, glaring along his rifle sight before being satisfied. The occupants weren't something he wanted to look too long at, sprawled out around the window. Red trails staining the walls where they had been picked off by whoever had entered here before him.

The stairs creaked and rattled under his boots as he descended, all but done with the place as he heaved a disgusted sigh. The smell of guts was only masked by the residue left from the explosives, and neither gave his stomach an easy ride.

Content to leave as soon as possible, Webster headed for the destroyed doorway. His footsteps crunched against the rubble, and then stopped.

The staircase creaked behind him.

Spinning on his heel, David could only let out a cry of fear as a body slammed into his. Rifle sent clattering to the dirt, he was left to thrash beneath the weight of the other man, the force of his attack sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Webster's world tilted on its axis, the blackened ceiling appearing for an instant before an angry and filth-smeared face was bearing down on him. Hands around his throat, squeezing the life from his lungs. The paratrooper kicked out and beat his fists against his attacker, but the snarling German soldier persisted. No sound could escape David's lips, his struggle quickly turning to clawing at the enemy's hands, gasping for breath under the pressure on his throat.

Something was spat down at him, words he barely registered. An insult, perhaps. " _Dirty_ ", followed by something he didn't recognise.

Hatred was all he saw in the other man's gaze, blue fearful eyes meeting wild green.

Hatred that vanished as a shot rang out and those green eyes disappeared amongst a rain of crimson. The German's head was thrown back as the bullet pierced his forehead, tearing apart his face as his figure went rigid for a moment. A pathetic, terrible thud followed as the fresh body slumped to the floor. Left to lay amongst the rubble, Webster's tearful eyes staring at the corpse that had almost made a dead man of him.

Drawing in heavy breath after heavy breath, filling his lungs like he had never tasted air so sweet, David could only roll onto his front and try to pull himself together. Folding over as he coughed and spluttered, gasping as he composed himself enough to look up, to face the silhouette in the doorway. Standing against the sunlight, smoking luger in hand. One booted foot on the doorstep, as if posed for some morbid photographer.

And as the pistol lowered, slid calmly back into the holster under the man's arm, Webster wondered if the rays around those dark locks could be the halo of his guardian angel.

The flicker of a lighter illuminated the stranger's face for a moment, breaking the facade as he ignited the smoke between his teeth. Dark eyes gave David a look of contempt as the paratrooper remained sprawled on the floor below him. The look of a stern and unimpressed parent, with tone of voice to match.

"Keep a better eye on your fuckin' back, _Private_."

The sergeant's figure was replaced by two more familiar ones as they pushed past - Skip and Penkala instantly kneeling at his sides to access his wounds. Webster was struck dumb for a moment, immune to their concerned questions and frantic patting of his uniform. Not even thinking to wipe the blood from his face.

David was too enamoured with the figure slowly sauntering away from the entrance, departing the scene as if nothing had happened. Walking out to meet his own comrades, who now occupied the square outside. Grouped together, just like the pockets of Easy company also scattered about, the gunfire having fallen silent. Unfamiliar faces marched by the house, new units now permitted to follow and occupy the town.

The battle had ended.

"Webster, _say something_!"

Looking to the worried face at his side, Webster could only give a distracted nod and soft confirmation that he was fine. He was helped to his feet all the same, the two men steadying his legs firmly before allowing him to walk out on his own. Into the sunlight and the victory beyond.

A victory that David could no longer pretend was theirs, it seemed, as he wordlessly joined the other huddles of paratroopers. Guarnere had already found himself a crate to sit on and Toye was leant casually against the nearest standing wall. Heffron was helping Roe tend to a protesting Lipton, who seemed to only be letting them bandage up the cut on his hand because Shifty was standing so pointedly close, rifle still propped against his shoulder.

All seemed normal once more.

Except Webster knew it wasn't, as he rubbed the congealing blood from his cheeks and looked to the circle of officers under the square's surrounding archways. Because the usual set of faces was accompanied by another, one Nixon was smiling at and Winters was listening to with the utmost attention.

The dark haired sergeant spoke quickly, cigarette between his teeth and lazy smile on his lips as he reported to Easy's commanders. As if nothing of note had transpired. And, when finished, he crushed the withered smoke beneath his heel and merely turned away. Sauntering back to his own men, crossing the cobble stones to their gathering in the centre of the square. Waiting patiently for his return, welcoming him back with tired smiles.

David tried to pretend he didn't catch the pointed glance the mystery sergeant sent his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Liebgott's regiment is not going to seem all golden and "can-do-everything" forever. That's more Webster's current perspective, they're not meant to be a flawless and undefeatable unit, as will become apparent!
> 
> also sorry if not much happens here, more interesting chapters to come when the Mamzer regiment and Easy Company actually get to talk one-to-one and work together


End file.
